


Angst/Horror/Dark ficlet collection

by MeGaLoTrash



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Body Horror, Chronic Illness, Drug Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Heavy Angst, M/M, Other, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 17:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18815386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeGaLoTrash/pseuds/MeGaLoTrash
Summary: Replacement going forward for my drabble collection. Was getting a bit long and I'd rather spilt things up in tone with some of the ideas I have planned for writing. It didn't feel right to mix this collection with others, but there might be some hurt/comfort overlap etc.That being said, this collection will be full of triggering/upsetting content that will sometimes be vent pieces and won't always have a happy ending. Will be tagging each chapter with detailed notes if needed as well as overall tags, but please do not read if you think it may have a negative effect on your well-being.





	1. Pills (Sf Papyrus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !! Heavy angst warning !!  
> Deals with suicidal ideation, drug abuse, internalised guilt, ending left to interpretation with major character death a possibility.

_1 2 3 7_

Slim didn't know why he bothered counting them. He knew damn well how many he'd saved up. It was ingrained in his conscious; something as familiar as the deep gashes caused by the scars on his arm. But still, he counted.

_1 2 3 7 10_

They were spares. The pills he didn't always need. They helped calm him down when he was at his worst. When his collection started it was easy to say this was why he kept track of how many he had. So he had another tool if things turned bad. It wasn't a lie. On his good days, it really felt like he was being proactive. Practicing self-care or whatever the buzz word was this week.

_1 2 3 7 10 16_

It was a cover. One that his years of carefully crafting a face to show the world had made dangerously easy. Slim smiled and told everyone was fine, but he knew the truth. It hung around him like a bad smell, always there on the edge of his conscious. Never leaving him alone. He tried so hard to ignore these urges, to keep them at bay with reason and bargaining. 

But all they needed was one bad night to win. 

_1 2 3 7 10 16 22_

Slim had more than enough to do it. It had been that way for a while now. Even longer if he included how long he'd had enough to cause severe damage. But he was a coward. He didn't want any possibility of error. Not again. He'd been through the aftermath of a failure. It wasn't pretty. 

_1 2 3 7 10 16 22 35_

Slim had been given trust he didn't deserve. His doctor, the friends that came to check on him, even the pharmacist with the understanding smile. They all believed the lie. Why wouldn't they? He'd said what they wanted to hear, things he wanted to be true, and they'd praised him for his progress. He was written off as having things under control, to be monitored but with a low risk of relapse. They didn't know him, they didn't know the signs. No one did. 

_1 2 3 7 10 16 22 35 38_

But Sans trusted him too. His brother had been through hell and back with him, making up for all the years they weren't able to look each other in the eye. Not surprising, after what they'd been through. But Where Sans had flourished and grown in strength, Slim had spiralled further into a pit he couldn't see the way out of. They may have rekindled their relationship, but it was hard to see how Sans benefited from having to lug around a dead weight. 

_38_

Slim remembered what sans had looked like at his bedside all too well though. Broken, terrified, tears spilling from his socketed as he screamed at Slim for being so stupid. Slim couldn't do this. He owed it to his friends, his brother, and to himself. He'd been through worse, much much worse and come out the other end. 

_38_

He was going to get through this. 

_38_

He had to. 

_38... 35... 22... 16…. 10... 7…_

_3_

_2_

_1_

_0_


	2. Broken (Ut Sans)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deals with Graphic descriptions of illness(bone related), body horror, pain, hurt/comfort (skelebros)

Sans willed himself to keep his sockets screwed shut.

If he fought the process of waking up with every fibre of his being, then maybe he wouldn't have to face the inevitable. He didn't need his eyes to know it was still the middle of the night, or that There was a small chance, maybe one in a million, that sleep would retake him and he wouldn't have to deal with what had happened. There was an even smaller chance that this was all just a bad dream. Sans didn't care, he'd take anything over this. He laid perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. Keeping himself in limbo as long as possible. 

But in the end, he just had to know. 

Sans slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He'd pulled his sheets back and there it was. His patella had moved to the side of his leg, making the lower half of his leg stick out at an unnatural angle. He had no way of knowing when it happened, but if the shooting pains were anything to go by it had been far too long already. Sans used to think that pain this bad would wake him immediately. But when he was running on empty, he soon realised that he could only go so long without collapsing from exhaustion. 

Sans winced as the slightest movement sent a new jolt of pain through his bones. He couldn't leave it any longer. He needed to fix this before it got any worse. 

He was a skeleton. His body wasn't meant to do this. Sans didn't have anything but his bones and the magic that held them together to fall back on. There was no rhyme or reason as to why this was happening to him. Just something he had to deal with that had been getting progressively worse as he got older. 

Dwelling on how unfair it was wasn't going to help him now. 

Sans pulled a corner of the sheets into his mouth and bit down hard before carefully pushing himself into a sitting position. His other joints ached and groaned, exhausted themselves from the amount of effort it took for them to function nowadays. But Sans pushed on. He got into a position where he could reach his leg, took in a few ragged breaths, and slowly placed his hand on the dislocated bone.

Tears fell down Sans's skull liberally as he panted through the white-hot pain. He gradually built up the pressure until he worked up the nerve to push. At first, it felt like the only thing he succeed in doing was injuring himself even more. He was close to giving up and screaming in pain when the bone shifted and slid back into place. It hurt. It didn't matter how relieved Sans was that he'd managed to get things under control. The pain overwhelmed his senses, stripped him of his ability to think. Made sure that Sans couldn't focus on anything else. 

It wasn't long before he heard the soft sounds of his bedroom door open. Papyrus didn't demand his attention, or even announce what he was doing until he was sitting by Sans's side. He opened his arms and Sans fell into them, gripping at anything he could to ground him back to reality. 

"it hurts" he sobbed, "i can't keep-it hurts so much."

"Don't worry, Sans," Papyrus started, his own distress breaking through his usually steady tone, "We're going to get you help. We'll do everything it takes to help you get better." 

Sans smiled through the tears, nodding and melting into his brother's arms as the fear consumed him. He wanted to believe what Papyrus was saying. He knew nothing would stop his brother from trying everything he could to fix him. But there was one issue. One glaringly huge flaw in their plan that refused to be ignored no matter how much Sans wanted to pretend it would all be ok. 

_What if he couldn’t be fixed?_


End file.
